


Sidetracked

by Auraspirit157



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Far Too Many Feelings, Fluff, Fluff with occasional plot, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Oh and Lots of Blood, Perpetual Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4542636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auraspirit157/pseuds/Auraspirit157
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys thought that murder was simple, especially on Pandora. Leave, kill, get out.<br/>When your target is Handsome Jack it goes a bit differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eh heh heh hello there!  
> So this is my first fic with this pairing. I do hope you enjoy it and leave some comments! I'm terrible with this author note thing soooo *awkwardly shifts to the side and out of sight*

When Rhys wakes he is welcomed with a throbbing pain in his head and less than a quarter of his tolerance left for getting knocked out. He counts backwards and forwards, remembering common things like his name and birthday.

 

There is no blood on his clothes. He momentarily appreciates the sturdy nature of his head from multiple ends of guns before taking in his surroundings.

 

It wasn’t much to look at. The room was only a bit larger than a supply closet, his long legs taking up much of the limited floor space. A steel door sat at his right; otherwise the walls were bear and very clearly establishing that ‘You’re not getting out of here’ vibe.

 

His ankles weren’t bound but his wrists were with some kind of thick wire that itched at his skin. Oh, and he should account that he was leaning on the back of someone else.

 

And whoever it was isn’t conscious. Great.

 

The young man tries to shift his body around to get a good look at his cellmate but to no avail. He could guess the stranger being older, or at least larger with broader shoulders and hands that he felt had many scars just by brushing them with his fingers. He wonders if they are both there for the same reason. Although, now that he thinks about it, his understanding of all this bullshit was a bit foggy.

 

He remembers what he was trying to do--right--he needed to kill someone.

 

Even now, despite everything that could happen if he finished the job, the idea has a bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn’t in the department of murder in the vicious ladder of Dahl hierarchy, that’s the last place he thought he would find himself.

 

But he never strayed from a seemingly simple opportunity to set his place for life.

 

A new corporation by the name of Hyperion was rising with incredible speed—literally. They had a giant space station orbiting Pandora’s moon, one that apparently had some diehard working conditions. Not only that but they were steadily gaining popularity with their tech in the one thing everyone on the planet could enjoy: guns, and lots of them.

 

The production of new tech was so rapid; Dahl was starting to feel threatened. It’s only natural to eliminate the competition before it got big enough to protect itself. That being murder. And it wasn’t the leaders they were after either; it was the programmers, the brains behind the operations. They had axed off a few, but there was one in particular that need to a bullet in their head the most.

 

His name was Jack—or Handsome Jack as some called him. Rhys assumed it was just an ironic joke, because he heard the man wore a mask to hide some unsightly scar. He didn’t expect it to be an _actual_ nickname that he _used._

 

But he wouldn’t know. He didn’t exactly have the chance to meet the guy before he was _ambushed_ halfway there. Damn bandits. They had a startlingly fantastic track record of ruining his life.

 

He only wanted to kill a man, and upload his programming intelligence into his own head in order to climb up the corporate ladder faster than—most likely—humanly possible. He thought they would understand shit like that.

 

Then again, from what he overheard the guards mumble about, they needed programmers. That was before he was knocked out again, of course. He needed to find a way out, he needed to get off this planet and reconfigure his plans.

 

He stiffens as he feels the muscles of his cellmate shift. The guy was coming to. At least he had someone to talk to, he supposes, until he can figure out an escape.

 

A rough shot of breath makes the young man jump, a voice mumbling incomprehensively, slowly trailing off.

 

Rhys cranes his neck, “Hey—man, are you—“ He lets out a small gasp as he’s jerked to the side, the man easily shifting all of his weight to smack into the opposite wall.

 

“What—friggin—“ A violent scoff comes from the stranger, “Who are you?”

Rhys is flung to the other wall before he plants his legs on the floor, growling instinctively back, “Who are _you?”_

But the man he still cannot see ignores him, spouting out curses and pulling himself up, dragging Rhys up with him, “Alright, so this isn’t what I expected to happen. Since when did these savages start _thinking?”_

 

Rhys couldn’t decide if the man was angry or very aggressively amused. All he knew is that his shoulders stung from being flung about like a ragdoll.

 

“I don’t like this situation any more than you do—“ He’s interrupted when the other man kicks the door, he didn’t know if it was out of frustration or truly thinking he could break it down. Regardless it only leaves a dull, metallic ringing.

 

“Will you _stop it!”_ The young man speaks breathlessly, then sighs long, “Listen…we aren’t going to get anywhere with what you’re doing.”

 

“Yeah…figured that one out.” The other drops back on the ground, more carefully but still a bit too abrupt for Rhys’ comfort.

 

The young man leans involuntarily against the strangers back, huffing bitterly, “You could have ‘figured it out’ a bit sooner.”

 

“Oh, silly me for being a bit—just a little absolutely pissed about this,” He feels the stranger’s head survey the small space, “What’s your name, kid?”

 

Again, Rhys sighs, trying to fan out his frustrations and still agitated muscles, “Rhys.”

 

He hears a sudden snort, “The fu—What kind of name is that?”

 

“Ah-ha ha. Make fun of my name, that’s original—why don’t you join the bandits I’m sure they’d love you.”

 

“Don’t be so bitter. I’m sure your parents were only mostly wasted when thinking of that name.” He speaks again, quickly, as if he never made the first comment, “I need to get out of here.”

 

“I’d like to get out of here too,” Rhys comments, though his tolerance for the man was fading swiftly and without prelude, “If we actually tried to work together we might both get out of this alive.”

 

The man seems to contemplate this as if it just arose in his head, “…Alright, than do me a favor and just—bang on that door like an idiot.”

 

Rhys looks at the door, “Ah…why exactly?”

 

“Just trust me—“

 

“Oh _now_ you decide to do this—“

 

“You know the sass was cute at first but now I’m trying to help.” The stranger pulls suddenly, forcing Rhys to face the door, “Go on.”

 

Rhys looks back at the door, wondering how this would work. Then again, it’s the only “plan” they seem to have. He takes a breath, kicking at the metal, screaming random nonsense that gets some chuckles from the other man.

 

Eventually his feet fall flat, as the door swings open, a scrawny, masked…thing stands in the doorway, a wicked buzz saw in his hand. He screams back at Rhys, the saw spinning, creating sparks.

 

“Oh Gosh—“ Rhys shouts, his eyes widening.

 

Despite the situation his cellmate laughs, “Wow, that makes things very, very simple,” He cranes his neck, his voice calling out from Rhys’ shoulder, “He was annoying me too, buddy. He hates you, thinks meat is overrated.”

 

The scream Rhys hears from the thing is deafening, “ _WHAT?!_ _I live for meat! And meat lives for me! Until I KILL it into TIIIIIIIIINY pieces!”_

“Oh yeah, he hates it. In fact, he’s like, a hardcore vegetarian.” Jack shakes his head, in utter disappointment, “And he has a stupid name on top of it. You should totally murder him.”

 

“What the _hell_ man?!” Rhys cries, knowing he should have expected this bullshit.

 

The psychotic bandit jumps up and down with sudden delight, “ _I will! I’ll cut him open—“_ he stops, shoulders slumping, “ _BUT leader says I can’t kill meat! AHHHHHH what agonizing sorrow! Like the death of the sun as it falls from the sky!”_

Jack sighs softly, as if with sympathy, “Aw…don’t let that get you down tiger.”

 

“No, no I think that should _definitely_ keep him down!” Rhys laughs nervously, “In fact he should just leave—“

 

“Nah, just cut off his fingers.”

 

“ _What?!”_

“He doesn’t need them.”

 

_“Yes I do!”_

But the bandit was already riled up again, “ _YAY! NO one will ever know! Meat buddies don’t need fingers!”_ he raises his buzz saw, “ _BE FREE MEAT!”_

Jack’s voice is quick but steady, “Lean forward, cupcake.”

 

Rhys barely has time to register his words before he follows the command, soon hearing the wire grind and snap between them, the force knocking him forward. He just has time to turn, the masked psycho aiming another swing.

 

But the stranger is there, on his feet and ripping the saw from the bandit’s hand, “You missed.” He says simply, “I really hate when people can’t do their job.”

 

He’s swinging the weapon straight at the masked psycho’s throat before it can even let out a angry screech, the sharp bit sinking in the flesh and bone. Rhys’ could have sworn he saw the stranger smirk before he flipped the switch, the buzz saw coming to life, spinning brutally through the skin as if it were butter.

 

The bandit falls to the ground before the weapon is even removed properly, crying softly, “ _Parting is such sweet sorrow…”_ he wails, dying straight after.

 

Rhys stares down at the bloody body with horrified eyes, speaking the first of a thousand questions erupting from his brain, “How…did you know how to use that?” He points an embarrassingly shaking finger at the makeshift buzz saw.

 

“What? This?” The stranger waves the weapon like some harmless toy, laughing slowly, “My dear old grandma taught me,” He tosses the thing aside, adding offhandedly, “Raised me from birth you know.”

 

Rhys pulls his gaze from the ground to look at the man, “That’s…” He trailed off from his words, staring. The stranger stands in the dim light of the larger room, straightening his clothes as if he could possibly make them less ragged. As he had assumed before, the other man was a bit taller then he, broader shoulders, and a particularly handsome face. Yet, he seemed to be wearing some kind of prosthetic mask, one eye blue and the other green, surreally bright.

 

He knew exactly who this man was now.

 

Rhys blinks, realizing he’s alone now, footsteps smacking metal stairs. He scrambles forward, his mind reeling. That man is Handsome Jack. He wants to think himself lucky for this, having who he was looking for right in front of him.

 

But it seemed less fortunate with that little display he just saw. Clearly he underestimated the man, very clearly, a bit too clearly.

 

He reaches the top of the stairs, seeing several men collapsed in the hallway, disturbingly sized holes in their heads. He shivers, running down the hall, following the bodies and gunshots that go silent as he turns the corner.

 

He steps forward, the sudden quiet unnerving. He moves forward only to be slammed against the wall. He lets out a short gasp, grabbing at a wrist as the hand wraps around his neck.

 

It’s Jack, watching him with mismatched eyes. Blood is splattered across his face in such a way that only seems fitting to him and him alone. The result is terrifying.

 

He holds him steady, almost casually with his one hand, speaking impatiently, “Why are you following me, kid?”

 

“Why am I—“ Rhys gasps out, struggling in his grip, “You’re the one killing everyone! I’m trying to get out too!”

 

There is a long, unsettling moment of silence, Jack’s narrowed eyes looking about his face. Rhys watches them dart about, wondering what exactly he’s looking for.

 

“You’re going get in the way is what you’re going to do,” He releases him, scooping up a larger gun off one of the dead bodies, “There is a back garage you can sneak out of, you know, so you don’t get shot, but you probably will.” He heads down the hall, vanishing, gunshots flaring up a moment later.

 

Rhys stares after him, backing up before turning and heading back where he came. He didn’t know exactly why he was listening to the man he was supposed to kill. How does he even know there is a back garage when he’s never been here?

 

Then again, it’s right where he says it is.

The young man moves into the open garage, the inhabitants seeming to have left in a hurry. Half of a wall is collapsed into a mountain of rubble and twisted metal. He looks up, hearing various explosions, death threats and gunfire from just outside.

 

For a programmer, Jack sure does work fast when he has a gun.

 

He looks over, grabbing one of various knifes and axes from a rusted table. He felt the bitter taste in his mouth again, that murder-taste that is clearly a delicacy to Jack. He rubs his thumb on the etchings on the knife, rethinking what his first action decided.

 

It would be beyond idiotic to walk straight out the garage. Instead he finds a ladder leading to the roof. There he realizes the entire nothing past the camp, the sun pulsating on his ripped clothes.

 

He would have sat there staring further but the turrets shooting over and over continuously interrupted his thoughts and internal cursing.

 

Oh, guess he could have noticed those first.

 

His eyes follow the trained bullets smacking mindlessly into metal crates before having to reload and start again. He would guess they are defective but he suddenly sees Jack race from the crates to another set of cover, shooting one of the many bandits at _least_ twenty times before ducking for the turrets again.

 

He honestly can’t believe he’s still alive. Then again he’s not surprised at all after what he saw. However he could somehow understand just by watching Jack further that the turrets were a bit of a problem. He was able to shoot at one for a good thirty seconds before getting swarmed by another wave of humans.

 

The young programmer looks at the turrets again then rushes over, ripping off a panel at its side with some difficulty.

 

Part of him contemplates simply reconfiguring the gunfire to better shoot at Jack, when he’s not expecting it. It would be simple, just a tiny change in the pattern…

 

What was he thinking? If that happens he’d get shot in the head and he’ll never get the information he wants.

 

Yeah, that’s totally the reason why he just turns them off.

 

When the task is done he heads back down the ladder. Jack will probably end up here, there are cars here he can take. He just needs to hide for that moment.

 

That of course was the plan until the back of his shirt is grabbed. He sucks in a breath as he’s lifted straight off the ground. He was really sick of that already, being lifting like he was made of bubbles and cotton.

 

“I leave for five _fucking_ minutes and this is what happens!” A gruff voice hisses, dragging Rhys away from the ladder and lifting him to face his…helmet he supposes, it hides his face under rusted metal. His armor made Rhys think of what they called ‘badasses’ back home, more as a joke but at the same time fitting,  “You’re that Dahl kid…”

 

“And you must be that…one guy…” Rhys speaks as he thrashes around, “Can we talk about this? I mean I bet it would be a nice spice on your life if you didn’t…you know…murder me.”

 

The badass laughs, but it’s hardly sounding like he’s amused, “I’m not gonna kill you, kid. I would have done that by now. We need you,” He looks across the garage, “Even that jackass killing all the grunts.”

 

Rhys shudders at the explosion that seems to go off on cue. He speaks up quickly, “Why am I here then? Not dead?”

 

Clearly not wanting to explain it the badass drags him farther across the room, a generator seeming to need repairs nearby. Rhys takes note of it as the bandit lowers him enough to have his feet touch the floor, but still holding him firmly.

 

“Lab rats like you are what we need to take over this shit-hole of a planet. All that shiny tech you pull out of your asses…” He seems to be thinking of it, Rhys can practically feel the grin under his helmet.

 

“You mean…the weapons? You want weapons? You need programmers for that?” Rhys babbles out, trying to make sense of what he heard out loud as he commonly did without realizing, “We don’t _build_ that, we just make the blueprints. Unless you bandits can get the right materials in this, accurately named, _shit hole planet_ than you aren’t going to be getting weapons anytime soon.”

 

The Hell was he doing? He’s basically calling himself useless and the badass figures this out fast enough.

 

But he doesn’t think about it for long, almost as if he’s been told this before he looks down at the young man, “Oh _right._ Thanks for reminding me…I’m sure you’re pretty useful at your company. You nerdy types are hard to find around here. They’d pay a lot to money to get you back.”

 

Rhys stares.

 

How the fuck did he figure that out?

 

He laughs nervously, “What—oh…come on…we aren’t that…important…” He trails off, confidence diminishing at the badass’s laughter.

 

“Maybe I _should_ kill you. You’re damn dense for a lab rat.” His grip tightens on the front of his shirt, and Rhys whines involuntarily, eyes darting to the generator sparking softly.

 

He doesn’t even try to rethink his decision before he’s doing it, grabbing a dirty pipe from just between them and plunging it into the generator.

 

He’s flung in a…direction. All he knows is that when he lands there are sparks jolting his muscles in weird webs of energy. Not the smartest thing he’s ever thought to do but it got him away. He pulls himself up, twitching, but alive. There is a quiet he doesn’t like…

 

Before he hears a very unhappy scream.

 

The badass charges at him at an alarming speed, he moves to get away but his muscles are stiff from his stupid plan. He’s tackled straight off the ground, crashing straight into the collapsed wall.

 

He just barely manages to retain his consciousness from the speed his back collides with the rocks. He could just feel the skin tearing in a burning rush. The badass is currently shoving the end of a rifle against his chin, but everything is hears is white noise, feeling some indescribable fire to his right but he can’t think of that. Instead he grabs the knife from his belt, stabbing it blindly toward the badass, feeling it sink deep into some kind of skin, feeling blood run down his hand with an uncomfortable warmth.

 

The fading effect of shock shuts off when the bandit drops unceremoniously onto the ground.

 

Rhys gasps, his panic declining for only a couple seconds, enough for him to laugh once at his victory before he remembers the fire at his right, that white-hot, _vicious_ burning.

 

He attempts to hold in his breathless cry when all of his senses crash into reality at once. His right arm, pinned with several shards of shrapnel pinned him upright to the wall. It amazed him he was still conscious. Yet, as soon as he tried to shift, the sharp metal tore at his flesh, making the blood run faster and his nausea grow.

 

He uses his free arm to grip one of several shards, pulling as hard as he can. Without the proper leverage, however, or strength, they didn't budge, only irritating the places they struck more.

 

Strangely enough he can concentrate enough to hear footsteps, and a laugh, a terribly amused laugh.

 

Jack's voice came from the settling battlefield, approaching almost nonchalantly from the resolved fray, "Well would you look at that! You proved me wrong kiddo; you didn’t get shot."

 

"I--" Rhys tries to speak, but grinds into his words, his voice strained with pain, "--might be in a lot of pain right now..!"

 

Jack laughs again, a bit off kilter, something the younger programmer wasn't expecting, "Yeah...yeah I see that. It's pretty funny actually."

 

"Wha-- no it's not! _Help_ me!" the younger man speaks more frantically, continually trying to yank the metal from his arms.

 

"You're just making it worse pumpkin. Look, you're bleeding all over the place!" Jack's voice teeters on menace, "Didn't they teach you how to keep yourself clean over at Dahl or whatever?

 

Rhys freezes, looking up, "How did you know--"

 

"Woooow, you're pretty _and_ stupid. Pretty stupid. That--now that makes a lot of sense," he rolls his eyes dramatically, "You think I didn't know? That's cute, really cute."

 

The younger man doesn't know what to say, everything he thought of stuck in his throat. How could he have known? He sure as he'll didn't tell him anything. Then again, he had underestimated Jack. He knew a lot more then he was letting on, and by the look on his face and the almost complete change in his demeanor; he was waiting for a moment like this.

 

"Yeah, soak it in, I'm not a friggin idiot." Jack moves closer, hands behind his back, a smirk on his face that could make anyone stiffen, "So how about...I shoot you, _then_ maybe do a victory dance on your dead remains?"

 

Rhys swallows, but still manages a glare, "That would be hard since I'm, you know, pinned to the wall."

 

Jack tilts his head, actually contemplating despite the bitterness of Rhys' sarcasm, "Mmm, you're right kiddo." he moves away, kicking dirt around, picking up a lost hatchet from a fallen psycho, "Let's fix that."

 

With widened eyes Rhys jerks to the left, hissing when he again tears his own flesh, "You've got to be _kidding!_ You can't---"

 

"Oooh yeah I can, and I will." he sets the hatchet's edge just before Rhys' arm ends and shoulder begins, as if trying to find the proper place, "Your arm's mutilated, it's better if it just comes completely off."

 

"But I _like_ my arm!" Rhys can’t stand how pitiful his voice had become, but it was all he could manage.

 

"Then why the friggin hell did you get it stabbed with shrapnel?" he scoffs, "If you wanna have nice things kiddo you have to take care of them," he tears the fabric of Rhys' sleeve, "So daddy's gonna take this away until you learn how to handle it correctly. Sound good pumpkin?"

 

Rhys swore he wanted to protest, do _something_ to stop him but it wasn’t like he could run. He opens his mouth, as if any words he could produce could actually work against this psycho, only to hear a small chiming in his coat.

 

They never took his communicator did they?

 

He just barely reaches for it when he’s knocked out. Again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the fluff begins.

When Rhys wakes he feels far lighter than he should.

 

It wasn’t the come-toward-the-light weightlessness either. No, no he felt _physically lighter._

He feels a rumbling under him, vibrating along his spine, a chair, yeah, something like that. His hand etches along the surface, feeling some kind of leather or plush. He tilts his head over, wind roaring past him and land blurring along his vision. A car. He’s in a car.

 

He swears he hears someone talking to him but in his grogginess he couldn’t make it out, his thoughts going back to the lightness. He failed, till the point now where his senses begin to return, _why_ he felt like that.

 

He glances to his right and sees nothing.

 

Nothing, nothing past his shoulder existed. It was blank space held together with a mess of gauze.

 

He feels all the oxygen suck into him all at once, only to be anticlimactically muffled out when a hand claps over his mouth. At that point he doesn’t even car, the emptiness he continuously feels makes him scream more, grabbing at the wrist of the stranger.

 

“See—this is why I usually listen to my gut,” A voice speaks louder now, over the rushing wind, probably the hand’s owner, “Should have gagged you.”

 

It was Jack, sitting beside him, his other hand on the steering wheel. He glances over at Rhys with the same mismatched eyes, “…You’re going to scream if I let you go aren’t you?”

 

Rhys stares, the grip over his mouth most likely going to leave bruises. He wonders if the psycho even knows he’s holding him that hard. For the moment he just shakes his head, his eyes still darting to his missing arm. No, no he needed to stay calm—he had no _fucking_ arm but he needed to stay calm.

 

When Jack lets go Rhys uses the rest of his energy to scream as loud as he can, the car jerking before straightening out again. It wasn’t that he wasn’t calm; oh, no, he was totally calm. He just wanted to piss him off.

 

“Alright, first you want to kill me now you’re lying to me,” Jack’s fingers tap the steering wheel, clicking his tongue in some kind of reprimanding noise, “That is no way to thank me, cupcake.”

 

“Thank… _thank you?”_ Rhys cries, “The fuck makes you think I would _thank_ you for chopping my arm off?”

 

“Hey,” Jack’s voice is sharp and stern suddenly, “I don’t condone that kind of language here, kiddo.” He then laughs, “I will turn this car around.”

 

“Oh—Oh right, and go _where_ exactly?”

“There were some lonely looking skags earlier,” Jack leans back, “Listen, kiddo, you don’t know how lucky you are. If I didn’t get that arm off you would have bled out. Sure I could have pulled you off but the only product you’d have out of that is a bloody, barely functioning arm instead of none at all.”

 

“Barely functioning is better than nothing!” Rhys argues, “It could have healed!”

 

“Doubt it,” Jack looks ahead, “You didn’t need it. It’s better gone, just deal with that and shut up.”

 

He didn’t want to deal with it. Then again it isn’t like he could reverse time. His arm was gone; he at least had to accept that fact. However, the thought of bleeding out reminded him of something.

 

“Ok, so why exactly am I alive?”

 

Jack’s eyes dart to him and back, “Alive?”

 

Rhys huffs, “Yeah, “alive”. You knew I was trying to kill you, right? Why _didn’t_ you just let me die?”

 

“Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?” Jack counters, “I know you hacked those turrets.”

 

Rhys is silent for a moment, very aware that Jack answered his question with his own but quickly answers, “I didn’t want to risk it…hitting you in the head.”

 

“But that’s the best place to kill someone!” Jack grins, as if it were a fond memory, “all the blood and brains spill out, like, _pfffflt—“_ He makes a noise Rhys assumes simulates some kind of explosion.

 

“Ok—ew,” Rhys sighs, “And no…I…needed your brain—not like…I needed your _thoughts._ I…have a port—here—I can upload any ideas you had into my own mind. _”_

There is an awkward silence that basically obliterated any other awkward silence Rhys has been apart of. Jack speaking slow, “Alright…alright that is…outrageously creepy but I’m gonna ignore it for the sake of this.”

 

“Oh come on!”

 

“You gotta admit it’s a little creepy.”

 

“I needed it!” Rhys sinks in his seat, “I wanted to get farther. Dahl kept talking about you.”

 

“Well that’s no surprise I am a great conversation starter,” Jack smirks at his own ego, “But killing me wouldn’t have got you any farther, kiddo. They would have written it off as some silly accident if it meant keeping some dumb kid from taking up a valuable spot.”

 

“It would have been different.” Rhys mutters, though he wasn’t so sure himself. He couldn’t predict how well it would have worked out.

 

Jack, however, surprisingly hums in agreement, “Yeah, it would have.” He glances at Rhys, his original smirk not leaving, “You would have had me in your head, which would make _anyone’s_ life a little better.”

 

The younger man rolls his eyes, not even wanting to talk to him anymore. It was bad enough that he failed to kill his target; he lost his arm _and_ he was riding to god knows where _with_ his target.

 

Although he remembers something rather suddenly, from before he was knocked out. That ringing.

 

He grabs at his jacket, feeling nothing, a soft groan escaping him as he hits his head back against the seat, “…What did you do with it?”

 

Jack laughs slow, grinning far too much, “Shattered it in a million pieces.”

 

“Oh my—“ Rhys covers his eyes with his hand, “Why…why would you _do_ that?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I? You might as well forget about going back to Dahl, kiddo, you’re working for Hyperion now.”

 

Rhys stares, somehow, already not surprised by this but he speaks with his same frantic nature, “So this is a kidnapping then.”

 

“Aw, well if you want to call it that I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

 

“You do know that Dahl owns, like, at least half this planet right?”

 

“Give it a couple years, kiddo,” Jack says, “You’ll be surprised how fast Dahl vanishes into nonexistence.”

 

The pure confidence in the way he says it actually makes Rhys think. Everyone knew the presence Hyperion has created. He vaguely remembers several of his coworkers wanting to switch but afraid of what might happen. Hyperion wasn’t just _there_ for some. People _feared_ it like it was some kind of monster. Then again, if most Hyperions are like Jack he’d be afraid of them too.

 

Jack looks behind them, then again, scoffing, “Ah, yeah, you’re gonna want to hold onto something.” He says, accelerating before Rhys has any time to even process what he means by that.

 

He wraps his one arm around the metal of the buggy’s frame, looking back, a pack of similar vehicles racing toward them, incomprehensible screaming and shouting coming from them.

 

“Oh no…” Is all he can thing to whine out, “Who are they?”

“Who do you think?” Jack calls as he does a barely stable turn, dust spraying up into the wind, “I swear these stupid bandits take up so much _space._ I’ll need to get on the turret…” He looks back, then slowly at Rhys.

 

The younger programmer quickly connects the dots, “You want me to _drive?_ With one fucking arm?”

 

“Well you can’t shoot from what I saw, just keep it straight,” He lets go of the wheel before Rhys can protest, making him have to frantically grab it before it can fully slam into the canyon. Jack leans over halfway to the turret, “And if you use that language again I’m taking a leg too.”

 

Rhys pulls himself over to the driver’s seat, visibly gulping, despite himself. He grips hard on the wheel, hearing the approaching bandits grow louder and _louder._

 

And then there is gunfire. Lots of gunfire. Enough that Rhys can’t tell if it’s from Jack or that he should be keep his head down far more often. He steers around several rocks and skags, his one arm burning from the effort it takes, skidding along several obstacles with a fit of suppressed curses. Even in this bullshit he didn’t take Jack’s threat lightly, considering he is mowing down the bandits like it was his birthright, laughing like the manic he’s proven himself to be.

 

The last thing he needed was a missing leg.

 

Then again, part of him, a very small part of him found this almost…

 

“Watch it!” Jack shouts from the turret, making Rhys look over at the psycho that has jumped into the car beside him.

 

_“I will bath in your muscle fibers!”_ Is what Rhys thinks he hears before he screams himself, kicking the thing straight off the car, watching him roll a couple feet before getting promptly run over by the last of the bandits.

 

Jack’s laughter fills his ears more than anything, “Oh—oh jeez that was amazing. Those gangly legs are actually useful, cupcake!”

 

“Heh…don’t appreciate that nickname, Jack,” Rhys laughs, it’s nervous and he can barely consider it laughter; more like very loud, very amused whimpering.

 

The final car charges up along side them, smashing against them with spiked wheels. Rhys tightens his grip on the wheel. He turns hard, trying to shake them up but they are attached. The psychos aboard laugh in perfect chaotic pitch, holding up blinking grenades.

 

“You stupid—suicidal--“ Jack just growls, not even bothering to finish the sentence. Rhys feels someone grab the back of his shirt and _pull._ He feels the surface of the car leave him, being flung into empty space before he smacks onto the rocky ground. He sucks in a pained breath as his stub of a shoulder reminds him what’s not there. He rolls several times, the entire time feeling some other weight attached to him, a pressure around his waist before he finally feels stillness. His vision fading in and out and a numb stinging on his stub, an explosion sounding off somewhere nearby, cutting off screeches. He coughs up dust, shifting, when he does he feels grip uncoil from around his stomach.

 

Jack rolls away, sitting up and brushing dust from his shoulders, his voice teetering somewhere between anger and frustration, “You’re lucky you barely weight anything, cupcake.”

 

Rhys turns onto his back, the sun high above him. He narrows his eyes, trying to process what just happened. He cocks his head to the side, staring up at Jack, “Did you…did you just save my life again?”

 

“It’s funny how I end up doing that every _five minutes,”_ Jack huffs, running a hand through his hair and standing.

 

Rhys wiggles around on the ground, planting his hand down and shuffling up, kicking up sand. The stinging from his shoulder is still there making him look over, setting blood seeping through the torn gauze.

 

“That’s…not good.” Rhys speaks quietly, watching the red drip onto the dirt.

 

“…And now you’re bandages tore, fantastic,” Jack kneels by him. There is a bag hanging from his shoulder that Rhys didn’t notice he had before.

 

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t land correctly,” The younger man mumbles noncommittally, trailing off as Jack pulls away the rest of the gauze, eyes widening, “Oh shit— _“_

Jack suddenly smacks him on the back of the head, “Calm down, we’ve been through this, your arm is gone. Now shut up I’m working.”

 

“You are so…rude…” Rhys groans, rubbing his head.

 

Jack chuckles, “Ouch, really scathing that insult.” He reaches over, unbuttoning only part of his shirt when Rhys smacks his hand away.

 

“What are you doing exactly?”

 

Jack groans impatiently, “You think I got the first bandages around with your shirt _on?”_

 

Rhys looks over at the strips of white against his other shoulder, deciding not to answer but pull away the section of his shirt himself.

 

“Thank you,” The older man says with virtually no gratitude in his voice.

 

He works in a silence that makes Rhys want to say something, but he doesn’t exactly know what to ask his reversed target. The younger programmer watches him in the quiet.

 

Jack is muttering to himself, things Rhys doesn’t even try to listen to. His mismatched eyes are narrowed, concentrated on however he’s fixing his wound. There is a cut along his hairline, looking deep but he doesn’t seem to even notice. There is the mask, the skin between it and his actual face only slightly discolored. Unless you looked close enough…the mask was bizarrely realistic. He wonders why he wears it, but doesn’t dare ask. He heard about a thousand stories but didn’t know which one if any were true. He seems so brash and downright _evil._

But he’s just saved his life again, and is trying to stop bleeding in his arm.

 

This is far too confusing.

 

When Jack finally looks up Rhys quickly darts his gaze away. Warmth grows in his cheeks that he quickly shakes away, not evening wanting to know why it came in the first place.

 

“We’re walking then.” Jack says, standing and turning ahead, “Last thing I wanted to do.”

 

“Have you noticed that we are in the middle of nowhere?” Rhys mentions, inspecting the newly bandaged numb like he’s supposed to be impressed before Jack grabs his other arm, dragging him up.

 

“You think I was driving aimlessly? There is a Hyperion camp out here. If we make it there you might not bleed out within the next couple days,” He lets go, walking ahead.

 

Rhys takes a moment before his legs let him move forward. He doesn’t know if he should walk beside Jack, so he sticks to behind him, seeing the burning wreckage of cars across from them as they walk.

 

He hears Jack mutter something like ‘dirty bandits’ before looking away from the fire. Rhys looks at the fire, his arm, and Jack.

 

This is all _very_ confusing.

 

\--888--

 

Rhys shivers, the cold setting it as if it was just hiding that whole time as they enter a small cave.

 

“If I don’t sleep I think I’m going to die,” Jack groans, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Eh, I mean, is that really such a bad thing?” Rhys grumbles before he can stop himself, the heat from before aggravating him to the point of migraines. They must have walked for…he didn’t even know how many hours. The point was that it was dark and neither of the two spoke the last mile, despite Jack talking for most of it.

 

He found out fast just how talkative he was. It was odd though. The chatter he created was cryptic and bizarre to him. He seemed to tell Rhys a thousand things while telling him nothing all at the same time. He spoke like it was some kind of craft. Details were either sharpened to the finest caliber or straight up left out as if they were unimportant. He concluded that he knows as much as Jack wants him to know at the time.

 

Which is absolutely nothing of substance.

 

Jack turns to him, “I know this is real hard for you to understand, but I’m your only salvation. You best be happy I’m here, cupcake.”

 

_“Please_ stop calling me that,” Rhys sighs, scooping up a pale orange rock shattered from others just outside the cave. He tosses it somewhere in the middle of the plateaued rock, about to speak when Jack shoots it before he can ask. It lights up, fire burning along its surface.

 

“Oh—watch out,” Jack smirks, “I’m shooting, thought you’d notice.”

 

Rhys glares, but sits by the rock fire, his legs thanking him for the rest. Part of his thoughts fractures off as he sits there, thinking of Dahl. Being hired there was the best he thought would happen to him. It seems so impossible that it could get this bad this fast.

 

He wished none of this happened.

 

“You look like you’re about the cry,” Jack speaks, interrupting his thoughts, “If you’re going to cry I don’t want to be a part of this.”

 

“I’m—I’m not going to cry!” Rhys scowls, “I thought you said you were going to sleep.”

 

“I am,” The older man confirms, leaning against the rock wall, closing his eyes “Just making sure I’m not going to be hearing and sniffling when I try that would be really annoying.”

 

Rhys scoffs, lying back as the other man’s muscles relax. He spends all of five seconds there before rolling to one side, then the other, staring at the fire, and then sitting up, cursing.

 

“And there is that language,” Jack sighs, opening his eyes, “What’s the problem? Are you uncomfortable hiding tears?”

 

“I told you I’m not going to cry!” Rhys’ voice tones down afterword, muttering sheepishly, “I can’t—I used to sleep on the hand that’s gone,” He admits, “Now I can’t get comfortable.”

 

He waits for Jack to laugh but he doesn’t. Most likely he’s just too tired to fully mock him for something like that.

 

But Jack suddenly smirks again, “Pfft—that’s it? You just need a pillow?” He taps his own thigh, “Just use my lap, kiddo, if it will shut you up.”

 

Rhys stares, speaking slowly, “You…want me to put my head on your lap?”

 

“Yep,” Jack answers as if it were simple, “Its better than having you thrashing around all friggin night.”

 

Rhys’ stare continues, scooting forward and back again, “No…no that’s weird.”

 

“Then stop complaining,” The older man says curtly.

 

“But my whole—my equilibrium is all off!”

“Then you shouldn’t have gotten it cut off.”

 

_“You cut it off!”_ Rhys shouts, shouts with a surprising amount of force for how little energy he has.

 

Jack cuts off the silence before it gets too long, “I’m done with this, jeez,” He leans back, closing his eyes again.

 

Rhys wants to swear or…or something, but words are useless on this man. He didn’t need any of this, barely deserved it.

 

But right now he was just tired.

 

He watches the fire for a while, until he hears Jack’s breathing even out to a steady softness. He waits, waits until he’s sure before scooting closer.

 

His clothes are covered in blood, dried from the sun but Rhys can still practically smell the coppery scent.

 

Then again, it could be the blood on him as well.

 

He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relaxing his head on Jack’s lap, just enough to give him comfort and nothing more. He hopes to whatever God out there that Jack doesn’t wake up now; he could deal with the mocking in the morning but not now.

 

He didn’t need this.

 

He falls asleep immediately.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiss your fist and touch the sky, kiddos  
> Because the plot is about to thicken.

Rhys makes sure Jacks eyes are still closed before he leaves the cave.

 

It was perpetually surprising how deeply the man allows himself to sleep when he chooses to. Rhys woke up about an hour ago, wondering around the rocks for a couple minutes before seeing the bag Jack was carrying before. It wasn’t around him, probably removed at some point during the night though he didn’t want to think about that.

 

Because thinking of that reminded him that Jack most likely saw him sleeping on his lap…despite how comfortable it was.

 

When he came close to taking the bag he felt like he was taking treasure from a sleeping dragon. One wrong move could get him eaten. He hesitated enough to notice how many facial expressions Jack makes when he sleeps, but very little talking. Almost as if he’s trained himself not to speak, at least in Rhys’ opinion, as he looks about ready to scream something every minute.

 

The younger man shakes his head, very slowly snatching up the bag. He stiffens and makes a small noise as Jack shifts, relaxing only when he’s still again.

 

Now he’s about ten minutes out into the unknown, expecting a bit more relief from being away from the psychopath than he actually felt. Jack was right about one thing; he had much more experience with this than he did in…aggressive behavior…at least of the shoot-everyone-in-the-face variety.

 

But he could also shoot _him_ in the face. That was an option that he’s making viably very possibly by running.

 

Or, at least, walking very fast.

 

Another ten minutes go by, then up to thirty, then an hour before he stops at the shade of a rock, sitting against it.

 

“Alright, what are you hiding from me?” Rhys speaks, to himself, as if Jack was actually hiding something in the bag. Then again, he hid about…at least twenty things from him just talking.

 

There were some obvious essentials, water they shared (Although Jack took the liberty of drink more than him), some strange granola bars neither of them enjoyed and the med supplies used for his missing arm. There was a shiny pistol, some bullets; it was different than the one Jack had on him. And extra, he supposes.

 

Everything emptied in the sand, he sighs, rather disappointed. He didn’t know what he was expecting, maybe a family hit list, a couple severed fingers, a bottle of a child’s tears, something that made him confirm with no condition that he was right to run.

 

His brow furrows as he hears something, in the midst of setting everything back in the bag. It was metal clanking against metal within the fabric to be exact. He pokes around, lifting a flap of cloth around the seam, a zipper there. One of those secret pockets you put credit cards or anything else you don’t want a pickpocket to find. He shrugs, unzipping it.

 

His eyes light up, “Hello there…” He mutters, pulling out a handful of USB ports, all with the labels seeming to be ripped off. He inspects one of them, a smirk growing on his face, “Now what have you got that’s so important?”

 

It was clear to him that Jack intentionally got himself captured. He mentioned it at some point in his ramblings, but not _why._

These must be that “why” he so expertly avoided.

 

Rhys looks at the USB, then around at the nothingness around him. Oh, yes, he’s doing this.

 

Now comes the first of two bad decisions.

 

He plugs the port into his temple, jerking once or twice, his mind running through numbers, unknown places, lines of code he can’t see, names he doesn’t recognize. He plugs in another, and another, waves of information spinning and twirling in his brain disjointed and barely making any sense at all. Of course, its scrambled, its security he can override if he can just get back to Dahl. However, one word kept springing up, over and over, within the bundled up nonsense.

 

Vault, Vault, Vault.

 

The young programmer, fingers twisted in his hair staring at the rocky ground, can’t help but laugh. He didn’t know what kind of laugh it was, if it was nervous or downright _devious._ He stands, stumbling a bit, waiting for the energy of the new information to settle, the electric migraines lingering but calm. He looks down at the drives thrown on the ground in a small pile.

 

That’s when he makes his second bad decision.

 

He smashes them.

 

Into a million. Tiny. Pieces.

 

He kicks what’s left into the sand, a rush of wind sending it into nonexistence.

 

“Fuck you, arm stealer,” He laughs, grabbing the bag and heading off, not even caring where he was going.

 

He could touch the sky right now.

 

\--888—

 

If Jack could pull apart the sky he would. Oh, he would. And it would be glorious.

 

But since he can’t do that at the moment he can settle for some good, old fashion homicide.

That always put him in a good mood.

 

He was aware that the kid had fallen asleep on his lap, yeah, duh, that was a given. The weight of his head on him was enough to have him wake to silently laugh at him. It was probably the hardest thing he had to do, silently laugh until he could find the energy to laugh at his face in the morning.

 

But his face, all of him wasn’t there. Along with his bag.

 

That stupid, _precious_ little idiot. Now he has to kill him, what a friggin’ disappointment.

 

He is following the kid’s footsteps, considering how they haven’t disappeared with the wind he can’t be that far. He knew he should have just killed him, or better yet just left him pinned to the wall. He was dim enough to get himself in that situation that should be his punishment.

 

But whom was he kidding? He had a cute face. He was merciful to cute, even if he was just going to drop him right when they got back to the Hyperion camp.

 

He walked for, what? A friggin’ _year?_ That’s certainly what it felt like, God walking sucks.

 

Well at least he was close. Close enough that he could see him walking with some stupid cockiness that just pissed him off more. Since when did he get a spine on him? That’s annoying.

 

Maybe he’ll just rip it out.

 

He quickens his pace before seeing a figure turn from behind a rock. A Skag, a particularly large one stalking toward the kid.

 

Oh, well looks like Mother Nature wants to do work for him.

 

\--888--

 

Mother Nature really doesn’t like him.

 

When Rhys sees the Skag he tries to remember if it’s better to stand still or to get a head start running like Hell. It probably results in the same amount of mauling either way but he needed to do _something._

 

When the Skag darts forward he decides to go with the running-like-Hell option.

 

He doesn’t get that far, getting tackled by the thing, spit from its roar splattering on his face.

 

No, no he can’t die. He has so much _information._ Facts that could save his career. And what kind of death is “slaughtered by Skag” anyway?

 

He doesn’t think about it too long, because a bullet flies through the side of the monster’s head, it screeching and falling slowly to his side.

 

He gasps, shifting his arm around to grab some balance on the ground, “Oh…oh thank…whoever…” He trails off.

 

Jack stands over him, the pistol in his hand still smoking and the shadow he casts something to be feared.

 

“I wouldn’t be thanking me, kiddo,” He says, slowly, with a very particular smile.

 

The younger man somehow is able to get on his feet, backing up frantically as Jack takes rapid strides forward, grabbing hold of his neck with a hand, shoving him back into the wall of rock, “Now—I need you to explain this to me, because, you know, I’m seriously not getting how you thought this would go well for you.”

 

Rhys feels his grip tighten, cutting off his air. He grabs at his wrist with his one arm, “You know…that’s a great question—“ He laughs, immediately regretting it because it takes necessary oxygen, “And I would love if I had an answer you’d like.” He squeaks as Jack’s thumb presses against his windpipe more, wishing he could take command of the rest of his muscles but all he can do is grip the other man’s wrist tighter.

 

Jack leans closer, “I’mma let you in on a secret, cupcake,” He laughs slowly, lowering his voice to a mocking whisper, “There is no answer I’ll like.”

 

Rhys can only gulp in response, quickly running out of reserve breaths. His eyes dart to the bag at his side and back. Jack briefly looks as well, his grip loosening just enough for Rhys to sneak in air while he riffles through the bag.

 

“Um…ah…” Rhys doesn’t know what he’s trying to say to him. All the English in him left with, probably his hope for survival.

 

“I really do hope you’re trying to tell me where those ports are,” Jack says, laughing again, but its stilted, shaking, “Because…if you’re not….it’s probably not worth it.”

 

“Probably not…” Rhys gasps, his arm shaking, “But you know—I’m sure when you hear about it you’ll laugh—“

 

“You’re killing yourself faster, pumpkin,” Jack speaks impatiently. “Where are they?”

 

Rhys shifts, feeling a bit more of his throat, probably so he can answer but he still struggles with those pesky words. The fuck was he supposed to say to the murderous Hyperion in front of him? Sounds like he’s going to die regardless….

 

Wait…

 

“They…aren’t here….” He begins, quickly continuing as his throat closes up again, “Its all in my head! I—I plugged them all in my head! And…you know…I might have…smashed them…”

 

There was this silence, a dead silence as Jack stares with his mismatched eyes. He lets go of him, slowly prying his fingers away.

Rhys was going to say something, though it was knocked back into his brain as Jack punches him hard in the face. He grunts on impact, tentatively touching his lip, blood spotting his fingers. He’s hoisted up again by his collar and slammed back into the wall. He kicks around as both Jack’s hands tighten on his neck.

 

“You’d think…I mean…you’d _think_ dragging your body across the desert would suck,” Jack laughs, his eyes broken into horribly bright flames, “But you know what? I think I’ll enjoy it!”

 

“S—stop!” Rhys shrieks out breathlessly, “If you—If you kill me neither of us will have it!”

 

“Oh yeah, I’m sure—“

 

“I’m serious, Asshole!” He thrashes around, “If my heart rate stops—my mind will be wiped, and all that information on the vault will be _gone.”_ He…did he just get smug there? God dammit he’s gonna get punched again.

 

But suddenly he can breathe again, though his neck is sore and probably bruised to high Hell. He stiffens, realizing how close Jack has gotten to him. He stares at Rhys with this silence he doesn’t think usually happens with him.

 

“I can’t kill you…” He speaks, deadpan, then laughs again, the same creeping, teetering laugh as he leans closer, mumbling closer to his ear, “You’re a riot, cupcake, really, that was impressive.”

 

He moves away, turning swiftly on his heel and padding forward.

 

Rhys blinks, watching him. Did that actually work? He’s alive?

 

It wasn’t that he was lying. He couldn’t lie to him, not even if he tried. Whatever he stuck in his head…he supposes if it has something to do with a Vault it would make sense. All he cared about at the moment was that he wasn’t dead.

 

He touches the skin on his neck, the area tender, stinging to the touch and probably some shade of brown or purple. He was hot too…probably from nerves but something bothered him about how Jack spoke in that harsh whisper…

 

“You know—“ Jack suddenly shouts from down the field, “There are _plenty_ of things I can do to you that involve lots of pain with…limited death. So unless you want me to get—really friggin creative really fast you better start following.”

 

Rhys didn’t know his legs could carry him as fast as they do then. He walks behind him before Jack glances over, snapping his fingers and pointing beside him. Ryse scowls but shifts to walk beside him.

 

“Why?” He dares to ask.

 

“So I can watch you.” Jack says simply, his eyes darting to him, looking up at down, then back forward.

 

Rhys’ face scrunches, “What was that?”

 

“You’re really questioning me? I looked at you.”

 

“No—you did the top-down thing,” Rhys doesn’t exactly know why he’s hung up on this but its better than staying on the totally-screwed-you-over conversation.

 

Jack rolls his eyes, muttering something about ripping off his limps that strangely irritates him more than anything else.

 

He stares forward, then at Jack, mimicking his observation up and down.

 

Jack catches it immediately, staring.

 

Rhys stares back, wiping some stray blood from his own lip.

 

“I hate you…so much…” They say, together.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 4 am I right?  
> Mmmm so here's a chapter by the way  
> Enjoy and leave some feedbacks, I love that shit, because you're all beautiful.  
> So many...hearts and stuff right now  
> ....  
> I'mma be over here *jumps into trash can*

When Rhys thought of a Hyperion camp in the middle of a desert he didn’t expect it to be so…outrageously large.

 

It was something he could see from a mile away, almost blinding him with how shiny the structures were from the sun. It almost seemed like they were trying to prove something, but not in a silly pretentious way because they _were_ saying something. He remembered seeing the Dahl headquarters, it was dark and casted one of those foreboding shadows over you. It wasn’t that Hyperion wasn’t so, quite the opposite considering the giant station in the sky that seems to follow you everywhere. 

 

He jumps as a ship suddenly catapults from the camp, heading straight to the H mentioned.

 

“Does _everything_ scare you?” Jack asked with a raised eyebrow, “If I threw a bunny in your face would you piss you pants?”

 

“Sorry that I’m a bit jumpy lately. I have no idea why I’m like this,” Rhys says, bitterly, getting an exaggerated eye roll from Jack.

 

“ _You_ stole from _me_ kiddo.”

 

“Ah, well, you stole my arm—“ He groans as he’s hit on the back of the head. Other than squeezes the air out of people’s necks he sure liked to do that.

 

“Your arm does not equal what you stuck in your head,” Jack says, slowly, as if it was needed for Rhys to understand, “I was pretty sure you could figure that out but I guess not.”

 

Rhys was completely aware. A vault could contain billions in riches that could buy him probably a million new arms. He didn’t care at the moment though. It was his arm he had a right to bitch about it.

 

They enter the camp with various stares that made Rhys think he was going to burst into flames. Most are looking at Jack with a variety of what-the-hell-happened looks. Rhys supposes that’s natural when you leave alone only to come back dirty and bloody with some armless kid also dirty and bloody.

 

They were not spoken to till they are inside the main building, a woman taking rapid steps toward them. She looked more pandoran than anyone else, in some kind of purple-red armor. She looks out of place…and scary. Very scary. He can practically feel Jack grin behind him despite this woman’s particularly murderous glare.

 

“Hey, Athena!” Jack calls, dropping an arm around Rhys’ shoulders, “This is my buddy Rhys. I yep, yep that’s your ugly face right there but I can explain.”

 

“Please…” The woman called Athena sighs, clearly resisting some form of rage, “And try real hard not to get off track.”

 

She doesn’t even acknowledge Rhys, glaring at Jack with narrowed, expecting eyes. There was something familiar about her face. For some reason he associated it with a check with _lots_ of zeros…

 

“You’re a Vault hunter…” Rhys speaks out loud he realizes, interrupting whatever part of the story Jack was at.

 

Athena turns to him with the same critical look, “Where are the ports?”

 

“Oh…you know that’s a _great_ question—“

 

“You’ve got five seconds.”

 

“In my head!” Rhys spits out, pointing at his head as if it was needed, laughing nervously, “…It may have been a mistake…”

 

“Wow, wow we got a real winner here.” Jack says, rolling his eyes, “He smashed them too, so yeah, had to bring him with.”

 

Athena’s eyes dart back to Rhys, “…And where exactly did his arm go? He did have an arm there right?”

 

Jack laughs, as if what happened was the best moment of the day, “Chopped it off.”

 

The woman drops her head in her hand, “…Now why the hell would you do that?”

 

“Thank you!” Rhys says.

 

“You should have just killed him.”

 

“Alright, alright I see how this is,” The younger programmer stares at the ground, “Taking back that thanks…”

 

“Ah, well,” Jack shrugs, “Thought it would be more fun.”

 

“Oh, I see. Well, _look what happened!”_ Athena shouts suddenly, gesturing violently to Rhys, “We have to deal with this scrawny idiot because of you!”

 

“Hey, calm down sweetie,” Jack says, holding up his hands in surrender, “Yeah, it was stupid that I didn’t just kill him.”

 

“You know there are options other than killing me!”

 

“But he’s got all the information. So as much as I would _love_ spending a stupid amount of time arguing with you I think it would be better spent plucking out whatever he took.”

 

Athena sighs slowly, very slowly, still suppressing probably. She grabs the front of Rhys’ shirt, dragging him forward, “Come with me.”

“Don’t think I have a choice in this situation,” Rhys grumbles, as he’s staggered forward though many hallways, down some stairs where she lifted him straight off the ground. Everything around them is shifting into laboratories, men in white coats running around with bits of metal or very oddly glowing materials. It reminded him of the labs back at Dahl, but there you weren’t allowed anywhere. He remembers hacking into the security once to see what was going on there but only got audio of what sounded like and animal screaming. At least at the time he thought it was an animal.

 

Rhys suddenly becomes very uncomfortable.

 

Athena doesn’t speak until she stops just before certain doors, slamming him against the wall, “Alright. What did you do?”

 

Rhys stares back, “Um…pardon?”

 

“What did you do to keep yourself alive? There has to be something—I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Jack doesn’t tend to leave people alive all that often.”

 

The young man continues to gawk at her like she was speaking a different language, finally forming words, “I…I don’t know! Every time I ask he just—“

 

“Dodges the question? Asks you one? Or is it just being frustrating?”

 

“Uh…yeah, all of that.”

 

Athena stares at him for an uncomfortable amount of time, enough for Rhys to shift and clear his throat in some dramatic matter to try and get her to stop.

 

Eventually she looks away, striding down the hall, most likely expecting him to follow, “So you work for Dahl?”

 

Rhys actually voices his confusion in some strange noise between a violent scoff and a miserable whine. He knew if he asked about the clumsy transition he would probably just get glared at enough to make his skin melt off his bones. She knows that she can get away with it and it just pisses him off more. But he wasn’t in the position to retaliate, at least not in the talk-bullshit-until-they-give-up way. Instead he takes a long, already taxing breath and confirms himself.

 

He started by saying how easy it was to get the job, easier than he thought. Then again, it probably helped that he actually signed that contract volunteering himself for all sorts of things. It wasn’t that he was desperate—well he was but in a more dignified way. He wanted the job more than anything and Dahl was—is—the most encompassing company on Pandora. So it was the reason he had the port stuck in his head.

 

“Don’t those ports have ECHOeye attachments?” Athena asks, clearly only slightly interested and probably barely knowing what he’s saying. He really isn’t surprised; she’s a vault hunter.

 

“Well, yeah,” Rhys says, “I was supposed to get the implant in a couple months, they didn’t want to risk anything.”

“Oh sure,” Athena snorts, “They just didn’t want to kill you yet, or they just didn’t have the technology.”

 

“No…” Rhys speaks defensively, “No that’s not it at all—how would you know? Wait—why do you even _care?”_

 

“Oh I really don’t but I’m trying to figure something out,” Of course she doesn’t say what, only waving her hand as a way of prompting him to continue.

 

Rhys makes it clear his feelings with a scoff before moving on. He talks about his job as a programmer that wasn’t at all glamorous but it paid well enough. It was tedious and clearly the crap that no one else wanted to do but he _needed_ it. There was nothing he wanted more than to move to the top, he could do it, he could do it if he just had a _push._ Past all the assholes that aren’t as smart as him, not as talented or dependable.

 

“Sounds like you were trying to prove yourself…I can understand that actually,” Athena states, sounding pretty genuine, “But you shouldn’t have tried for something you no nothing about. Assassination isn’t exactly for a programmer.”

 

“Ah, yeah, I figured that out now,” Rhys mumbles bitterly, “But I didn’t think I’d lose my arm and most of my sanity out of it.”

 

“I don’t think you know what losing you sanity means out here, kid,” Athena stops again, crossing her arms, “And we can get you a new arm.”

 

Rhys looks down at the nothingness that had an arm a couple days ago. Would they actually give him a new one? He remembers that being one of the experiments Dahl said they would do on him potentially, (though he was trying to skim through it before his common sense kicked in and he ran like hell).

 

“Is it going to be an actual arm?” Rhys asks.

 

“What else do you think we’d stick there?” Athena holds up a hand before Rhys can answer, eyeing him, “Don’t answer that,” Then she glares past him, “Stop smiling.”

 

“But what if it was a chain saw?” Jack says from behind Rhys, a huge grin on his face, “Or, like, a laser, that would be so sick he could actually be _useful!_ ”

 

Rhys turns to him, wondering how long exactly he was standing there, “You are not putting a chain saw on my arm!”

 

“You’re right, you can have a chain saw _for_ an arm! Come on it will be great! Think about it!”

 

“Oh! Ok,” Rhys looks up at ceiling, mimicking some deep thought, “Oh my God! That would be cool! Because I could, like, chop off _your_ arm!”

 

Jack’s face straightens out in an instant, as if his grin never existed, leaning forward, “You know it’s a bit funny…it sounded like you were threatening me there.”

Rhys swallows, taking a step back. It was bizarre how terrifying he could be instantly, like flicking a switch, “Heh…ah, must have heard it wrong.”

 

He was looking at him, not glaring, not trying to melt his face off just _looking_ at him. Suddenly he takes rapid steps forward, enough agility to make Rhys back up, “No no no okay don’t punch me I really—“ he’s cut off by his own startled cry as Jack takes his face in his hands, expecting a lot of beating to death but not getting it.

 

Instead the other man is just holding him in place, as if examining a marble statue, glancing over to Athena without letting go, “Hey, you think we could install an ECHOeye implant? You know, one of those sweet hacking devices?”

 

“Excuse me?” Rhys takes Jacks wrists, a futile attempt to adjust his grip to his never-ending frustration, “Ah hah, you are _not_ putting anything in my eye—“

 

“We could do that right?” Jack continues as if Rhys shows no resistance, “He already has a port so it would be easy.”

 

“If by ‘easy’ you mean it would just take less time, then yeah, I guess it would be.” Athena responds as if this is perfectly normal, shrugging, “It would be an improvement.”

 

“It’d be the best way to descramble the data he took too,” His eyes dart to Rhys, running his thumb on his cheek bone, just below his left eye, “How’s that sound, cupcake?”

 

Rhys swallows, “Horrible.”

 

Jack grins, “Glad you’re excited. Because this keeps you alive, you know that, right?”

 

The only thing Rhys is thinking about is that Jack is still holding his face. Oh, that and trying to get him to _stop_ holding his face. However he does manage to nod, humming sharply some noise of agreement.

 

Jack finally releases him, smiling, “Great, because I’m not waiting.”

 

So he’s going to get his eye scooped out immediately?

 

It’s the only thing keeping him alive.

 

Rhys gulps down all of his pure need to try run, static running along his cheekbone, “Right…sure. Lets do it.”

 

\--888—

 

Rhys would like to think that he’s not entirely crazy. That side of himself was slowly diminishing the longer he listened to the man in front of him, donned in a white coat, speaking about all the significantly detailed, extremely agonizing ways this could all go wrong.

 

There were a lot of them.

At some point he asked Rhys if he understood but he tuned him out a couple minutes ago to keep himself from manically jumping from the chair he sat in. Then again, Jack was right next to the scientist, and if he ran he would probably have more than one bullet in him. Even if he couldn’t kill him immediately, Jack was smart, scary smart, he could find some way to rip the data from his brain and still use it. But he chose not to.

 

It was annoying, and Rhys wondered if this is some kind of torture being fully aware how close to death you are. It was that tightrope analogy, but instead of fire or man-eating fish or even just a hard ground waiting if you happen to fall, it’s Jack.

 

“I think he understands…either that or he’s too brain dead to answer, either way we’re getting this done.” Jack says when Rhys doesn’t answer, arms crossed, a smile brandished on his face like he’s having the best time.

 

God he hates him.

 

“Still hating you,” Rhys says dully, eyes darting to the scientist, “Can we get this over with?”

 

“Right…now you’ll be out for awhile,” He says, taking his wrist and bracing it to the arm over the chair, speaking again, “And you’ll…probably not remember this conversation.”

 

Rhys sighs slowly, glancing at the syringe  “Alright, whatever—“

 

“Wait…” Jack says, walking over to the other side of his chair, “He’s not going to remember anything?”

 

The scientist gives him a look similar to the one Rhys gives him, “Yeah, probably.”

 

“Nothing at all?”

 

“Not once the drugs are injected.”

 

Rhys can practically feel Jack’s smile grow bigger. He looks over, about to question why the hell he was so interested but he’s pushed back against the chair, Jack’s hand gripping his shoulder.

 

And then he was kissing him.

 

With no warning, he just crushes his lips on his. Rhys feels every muscle fiber stiffen, not being able the process this part of his life, like it was some glitch he didn’t know how to react to. He can’t think of anything sensible as the kiss goes on, sucking on his bottom lip. He had to move, he had to do _something._

So he gives up, gives up and decides on the thing that was made of the least logical cells in his brain. He pushes forward, kissing back like that was what he wanted to the whole time.

 

Then there was a sharp, flowing pain in his neck, like someone stabbed it.

 

Oh, that’s because Jack, who pulls away with a breathless laugh, has actually stabbed it. Rhys eyes dart over, the syringe emptied and gripped in Jack’s hand as it pulls away from his neck.

 

His vision blurs, parts of the room already sliding to other parts.

 

“You’re something else, kiddo,” Jack says, at least he _thinks_ he’s saying that. It sounds like its coming from miles away.

 

What just happened?

 

Rhys shakes his head, though he doesn’t feel it, everything is going numb. Why? No, he knew, because he was going to forget, right?

 

But…dammit he didn’t _want_ to forget that.

 

And then everything was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

The truth is that Rhys couldn’t remember much at all, at least from when he was talking to the doctor.

 

Well, scratch that, he could remember that there was something he should remember, some big thing that nagged him. He racked his brain within fits of brief consciousness for an inkling of what he was searching for. Whatever it was, it is making his skin crawl with goose bumps, a low, anxious aching pulling at his stomach. But, try as he did the memory is blurred and only leaves him more frustrated than he already was. Especially considering the entirety of that Vault stuff blocking everything—wait.

 

The longer he stayed awake the more he saw, various maps and dig sites, connecting in a line of excavations very clearly organized. There were X’s crossed into places, some more violently than others.

 

Eventually in his delirium he starts to piece together some things. That being that none of this information led to anything. It branched off, connected in some places, but the ends slipped off a cliff of nothing. The information was practically useless.

 

Which makes _him_ practically useless.

 

His eyes snap open with the sudden breath on that thought. He tries jerking up but his right side it pinned down, making the other flail manically in the air before flopping back down like some dying fish on a dock. He’s going to forget he did that.

 

But how the hell is he pinned down? There is nothing there to pin last he checked. But at the moment most of his focus is on the vision he had. Everything was in a grid and dyed pale blue, random information popping up on the things he looked at more closely. It was the implant. Right, that’s why he was out for—well he didn’t even want to _know_ how long.

 

The useless maps he sifted through earlier would sometimes interrupt the information on random parts of the ceiling. It was like getting punched in the gut, or maybe his guts being ripped out. Yeah that was more accurate.

 

He tries to move his body up, muscles tightening as someone scoffs, shoving him back on whatever uncomfortable surface he lies.

 

“Calm down, pumpkin. I’m almost done.” Jack says impatiently. He sounded tired, but didn’t look that way. Of course not, he has that mask. But his jacket is piled on the floor, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There was a cigarette hanging from his mouth, one that he takes between his fingers, blowing the excess smoke in Rhys’ face, making him cough and cover his mouth. He hears Jack chuckle low, a zapping sound ringing afterword.

 

The younger man’s eyes dart down, hearing Jack laugh again as his staring continues. He had an arm, currently locked down to the table by a cuff but it was there. Half of the panels weren’t on and wiring was everywhere. The color was the bright yellow that he vaguely remembered being Hyperion’s favorite.

“Holy crap…” Rhys mutters the only words he can think of.

 

A smirk curls on Jack’s face, “What’s that face?” He asks with a heightened voice, as if he’s talking to a toddler. He flicks his forehead, “Have you really never seen one of these things before kiddo?”

 

“Of course I have!” The younger man defends with a scoff, “Just not…as my own arm. I’m not an idiot—“

 

“Nah, nah I’m pretty sure you are.” He looks down, setting the last panel in place, “What do you remember?”

 

It was a weirdly serious question to ask. Then again conversations with Jack were inconsistent and only made sense when Jack himself wanted them to. He took a minute to answer, finding himself running through general knowledge like before. Certain details fuzzed up when he thought too hard about them, but he sadly still remembered what got him into this situation in the first place. Maybe he _is_ an idiot.

 

“I remember everything, I think…maybe…something is missing…” His eyes flick back to Jack, seeing that he is grinning at him, “What’s with the grin?”

 

“Oh, nothing,” Jack stifles a laugh, “You just look…really stupid when you’re confused.”

 

Rhys narrows his eyes, although they probably still look confused. He could probably write a novel on how perplexing Jack’s speech was alone. Because the way he told him he looked stupid almost sounded like a compliment.

 

Jack eases back in the chair, tossing the burned out cigarette on the floor and crushing it with his heel, “Go on, move it.”

 

The younger man looks down at his new arm, wasting no time slowly moving the fingers, bending it around when the cuff vanishes. It was like he had it the whole time, like his arm was never gone.

 

He looks at Jack, mustering the little respect he has for him, “Thank you…”

 

He is far too pleased by this. The older man grins even more at him; “Yeah I thought you’d say that,” He taps his own temple, “You’ve been looking at those maps this whole time.”

 

“I…” Rhys feels his skin spike up with those goose bumps, “I was?”

 

Jack’s expression flattens out, “Of course you were. That thing was glowing the past hour. What did you see, come on, tell me.”

 

There was this tiny little voice that Rhys remembers shutting up when he stuck this information in his head in the first place. It is most likely his common sense but he’s going to ignore that. Again. Because that worked out well the first time.

 

He will die if he tells him the truth. He knows that just from the past time they’ve spent together, right when he tells him he can kiss his ability to breathe goodbye. He just needed to go with it, bullshit it, he’s good at bullshitting he’s done that since he was a kid. This is _totally_ a good idea.

 

“There was a lot of…maps, locations,” Rhys begins, shifting up, “I think whoever had the information was wrecking the entire planet for the place.”

 

“Ah—yeah, it’s only a friggin Vault full of treasure and alien technology,” There is clear impatience in his voice, leaning closer, “Where did they stop?”

 

They stopped in about thirty-seven separate dead places.

 

“There are…two or three places I think,” Rhys continues, “I need to look over them more carefully…when I’m not about to…pass out,” He looks away from Jack, whose stare had that special pressuring quality that made him feel like there was a gun at his head. He messes with the fingers of his new arm, hoping that was enough. Hoping to anyone that that was enough.

It is, apparently. Jack pushes away from the table, cracking his knuckles, each sound a bit louder than the last, as if competing to see which could sound the most satisfying. His fingers were scarred, but not prominently, just many small nicks and tears in small shapes.

 

“Anything…particular you’re staring at, pumpkin?” Jack’s eyebrow is raised, “If its me I don’t blame you—people do that a _lot._ ”

 

A noise of denial leaves Rhys’ lips, which doesn’t help his case at all, “I was not staring at you—why would I…” He bites his lip, pushing off the table though stumbling a little.

 

Jack watches him, probably waiting for him to collapse comically on the floor from lack of motor control. With that idea the younger tries a bit harder to focus on walking. He attempts to pretend that he _isn’t_ going to collapse comically on the floor but it probably didn’t look as good as he thought it did.

 

Actually, almost 100% positive.

 

An arm moves around his waist, instantly giving him more support. He huffs out an irritated breath as he looks to Jack, “I don’t—“

 

“I wouldn’t even waste your breath on that lie, princess,” Jack cuts off with a smirk before snaking his arm around his shoulders, leading him out into the hall. It was quiet, the only sound being the clicking of their footsteps and some kind of hissing from a nearby machine. The lighting was certainly better on his head that has already suffered too much abuse the past few days.

 

“So,” Jack begins, clicking his tongue a couple times, “Are you intentionally terrible at your job or are you just going through one of those things dumb people have when they suck for no real reason—“

 

“What are you even talking about?” Rhys sighs, not even trying to figure it out at the point. His head didn’t need that kind of effort. But the question came instinctively, like he unconsciously wanted to ask.

 

“You’re supposed to be an assassin, right? Cause, if you aren’t this is really confusing,” He chuckles to himself, “Did you just decide over a cocktail ‘I’m gonna kill that incredibly sexy programmer that’s pissing off my bosses’—“

 

“Ok, first of all, it did _not_ go like that,” At least his decision did not involve alcohol…from what he could remember, “Second of all, I’m…usually, you know, _indirect_ with assassinations. You know…misplaced wires, hacked doors and…stuff.”

 

It seemed like Jack had to take time to process this. He is silent for a moment, only to laugh loud enough to make him jump, “Are you kidding me?” He stops them both, dropping him to lean against the wall, “And that…that actually _works?_ ”

 

Rhys shifts his position to fully support himself on the wall, “…You’d be surprised how much it does, honestly.”

 

“So…you’ve never had to just…shoot someone in the face before?”

 

“No, can we keep going?” He turns, guiding his hand along the wall as he continues down the hall, Jack not far behind.

 

“But that’s the best part!” He paces up beside the younger, “When you shoot them point-blank and their heads just go— _PFFFPLT”_

 

“Well, maybe I don’t _like_ the… _PFFPLT…”_ He says, badly simulating the sound effect. He keeps his eyes ahead, “I’m just doing my job.”

 

“Oh yeah? So never _once_ did you find it satisfying to kill whatever assholes they targeted?”

 

“…No, no of course not.” He scowls, but moves no farther, mostly because Jack had taken his shoulder. He’s pushed again the wall again, far too gently. He huffs, looking up to Jack’s face being much closer now, the heel of his hand pressing into his shoulder.

 

He looks at him thoughtfully, long enough for the younger man to wonder what exactly he’s looking for. Whatever it was, he could feel electricity crawl up his spine. Not the first feeling he thought he’d have…

 

“…You know what…” Jack mumbles, finally, leaning closer, “…I don’t believe you.”

 

Rhys pushes back on the wall, as if he could cease the already tingling muscles there. His gaze hardens to compensate, “Don’t believe what?”

 

“That you don’t enjoy what you do,” He smiles, the gesture strangely soft, “I never heard of an assassin that doesn’t at _all_ get off on killing their target.”

 

“Oh yeah?” The younger rolls his eyes, “Sorry to disappoint you but that’s not me.”

 

“It’s unhealthy to lie to yourself like that but if you really want to I’m not going to stop you,” He pulls his hand from his shoulder, “At least right now.”

 

This statement is close to making him laugh. He needed to get out of this mess, “I’m not going to turn into some psycho like you, but I mean, if you want to _lie to yourself_ and think you can—“

 

Surprisingly the other man grins, “Is that a challenge, cupcake?”

 

Now, this statement makes him pause. He was half a second from actually accepting some inane bet about changing his behavior on murder. His lips purse, “How about you leave me alone and I can look at those maps, we both get rich and never have to see each other again, alright?”

 

Jack’s lips twitch for a moment, “…Sounds like a plan.”

 

“…Good.” He’s going to act like he actually won that battle.

 

The two look at one another with a slightly different fixation.

 

That is, until both their heads snap to the very distinct sound of an explosion. Subsequently, there is noise of bullets hitting lots and lots of things.

 

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Despite Rhys’ want for Jack to be more annoyed by the interruption, the inflection made it sound more like a minor inconvenience in his day.

 

His gaze flicks to Rhys, gripping his arm, “I’m going to need you to stay put for a bit, princess,” he shoves him in the nearest room, that being some kind of supply closet before slamming the door closed.

 

Rhys smashes his body into the door as it closes, punching it hard with his flesh arm before really thinking about it. He curses and backs up into the shelves from the pain he really could have avoided if he wasn’t so _pissed off._

 

_“Really?”_ He shouts, well aware he has probably down the hall killing more people. He leans against the shelves, running a hand through his hair. He really didn’t want to be trapped in another tiny room. At least he wasn’t tied to a person he was supposed to kill.

 

He finds a decent sized jar on one of the shelves and shatters it on the ground, picking up a sizable shard of glass.

 

_Are you really going to try and stab someone with glass, Rhys? Really?_ He scowls at his own thoughts. It is stupid and ridiculous but it is the best he can do. He didn’t know what could burst in here trying to stab _him._ Yep. That will be his justification.

 

After a couple minutes that felt like they were being dragged through the desert he started pacing. He gets antsy, playing with the glass, accidently cutting his flesh hand a couple times. All he heard was constant shouting, shooting and general chaos he wanted to make sense of. He wonders if they are from the same group that ambushed him earlier. That would be great wouldn’t it?

 

He, for some reason, starts thinking of Jack again.

 

Rethinking, he switches focus.

 

He starts thinking of him again.

 

Dammit.

 

Thankfully, a roaring group of footsteps catches his attention. They stop right by the door.

 

“He’s in here—least that’s where the tracking is,” One voice says.

 

“Its gonna explode.”

 

“Is not gonna explode, dumbass.”

 

“That’s just what they want us to think. And then we explode.”

 

“Shut up all of you.”

 

Rhys clutches the glass in his hand, ducking behind the corner as he hears bullets smack into the lock. When the door pushes open he lunges forward, his wrist getting caught and slammed into the nearest wall.

 

_Well that was successful wasn’t it?_

He sets a glare to the figure holding him only to notice him wearing very particular armor; a very distinct green.

 

“…Rhys?” The Dahl soldiers speak simultaneously.

 

Rhys stares at them all, blinking once, “…Hey…”

 

The one holding him lets go immediately, “Where have you been this whole time? We were sure you were dead--Wait—why did the tracking lead to you? Wait— _what_ happened to your arm?”

 

“I got a little…sidetracked—Ah…what exactly were you tracking?”

 

“A cluster of USBs—“

 

Rhys doesn’t even let them finish, letting out a miserable laugh, “Heh…heh, you too, huh?”

 

“Do you know where they are?”

 

Instead of speaking Rhys just closes his eyes, pointing to his own head, “…So I may have uploaded them to my cybernetics—“

 

“Oh…”

 

“And crushed up the originals.”

 

“Ooooooh….”

 

“Yeah…” He rubs the back of his neck, “…Not my best plan.”

 

“No shit, but we can deal with that later,” He takes a familiar handle from his belt, holding it out, “Maybe you can defend yourself.”

 

Rhys snatches up the baton, flicking it open, a burst of electricity bouncing off it. Yeah—yeah much better than glass.

 

“So much better,” He sighs, looking to them, “…We should get going.”

 

He follows the soldiers, one of them looking back at him, “Soooo are you going to tell us about your arm, kid?”

 

Rhys allows a bitter smile, “Oh, you know, chopped off by a psychopath.” He darts forward, quickly smacking an opposing solider with the baton, sending him down the hall.

 

“It’s…a long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter, like, several months in the making  
> Apologies for the long time stamp...[Insert school insult here].  
> Anyway, hopefully it won't take an eternity and a half for the next chapter. Hopefully. Have fun beautiful people!


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